


After Hours

by succulentfather



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-05-28 16:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19398076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/succulentfather/pseuds/succulentfather
Summary: “I didn’t know there was such a thing as Professor of Demonology.”“I didn’t know there was such a thing as Professor of Oscar Wilde.”None of the other teachers speak to Mr Crowley, and the students are pretty sure he's fucking his houseplants. A new Literature Professor has set up shop just across the hall and an unlikely 'friendship' grows between the two.(on hold)





	1. In The Beginning

“Welcome to your very first class on Mythology. My name is Professor Crowley, but I prefer Anthony. We’re all on informal terms here.” 

At the front of the room stood a gangly looking man with long, red hair wearing pretty much all black. Circular sunglasses were perched on his pointy nose and obscured any view of his actual eyes. Some sort of thin grey scarf hung loosely over the waistcoat covering a grey shirt. To the untrained eye, he looked like a fashion disaster, but he knew he looked good. 

Two large plants were placed symmetrically at the front of the classroom, as well as an array of smaller ones lining the window. He perched himself on the end of the large teacher’s desk behind him and turned on a powerpoint full of pictures of mythical creatures, explaining each to the class in brief detail. 

\------  
At first, Mr Riel had seemed like a pretty decent fellow, but as Azira listened to him talk more and more, occasionally insulting different members of the university staff didn’t feel very decent. 

“And this will be your class.” Mr Riel opened a door to their left and let Azira walk through. 

“This is going to be great.” Azira mused, looking at all the empty seats and imagining them full of eager students, “Mr Riel-”

“Please, call me Gabe.” He interrupted. 

“Gabe, I want to thank you again for this opportunity. It isn’t that often I am given a warm welcome. And what with Literature being such a popular subject, I was almost certain I wouldn’t get the job.” Azira thanked his new boss. 

“Don’t mention it.” Gabe smiled, “We need more enthusiastic people like you to liven up this dump! Well, I’ll let you get settled.”

And with that, Gabe spun on his heel and left Azira alone in the classroom. 

\------  
“And I expect that completed by next week.” Anthony called after the class as they left, assignments in hand. 

He had set them an essay piece on a mythical beast of their choosing. He had told them it was baby steps, being so early in the course, but in reality he planned to set the same sort of stuff throughout the year. Crowley was lazy like that. If he was at all a competent teacher he would probably have more students. 

Well, more of a competent person in general; He was a lone wolf in the school and didn’t hang out with any of the other teachers. The students had running jokes about him talking to his plants as if they were his friends because one of them caught him telling them to ‘grow better’. He had been known to sit near Mr Hastur and Mr Ligur in the staff common room, but that was about it. The only time he ever spoke to any of his colleagues was if it concerned work or the students. Until today…

\------  
Azira had figured it was a marvellous idea to go round the classrooms near his and introduce himself to his new colleagues. Emphasis on the past tense ‘had’, because no matter how widely he smiled or how polite he was, he was met with half-assed ‘hellos’ and ‘welcomes’. No one seemed genuinely interested in having a conversation or just introducing themselves.

Deflated, Azira slowly made his way back to his classroom when he spotted the door directly opposite his. He hadn’t gone in there before, as there had been a class, but now the room was empty apart from a red haired Professor sat at the front behind his desk. ‘Sat’ is a cautious word, because he was more sort of laid between the chair and the desk with his feet half resting on a pile of books. He tentatively walked up to the door and read the crude paper sign taped underneath the window. 

‘MYTHOLOGY - PROFESSOR A J CROWLEY’ 

Azira pushed open the door and it made a small groan, alerting the red-head sat at the desk. 

“Mr Crowley?” Azira questioned. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” He replied, “You don’t look like a student.” 

“That’s because I’m not,” Azira explained, taking his reply as an invitation to walk further into the room, “I’m the new Literature Professor, my classroom is across the hall. I just thought I would come and say hello and introduce myself.” 

Mr Crowley lifted one eyebrow expectantly. 

“I’m Mr Azira Fell.” Azira said after a pause. 

He reached his hand out for Mr Crowley to take. The red-head leaned forward in his chair and his thin hand somewhat snaked its way into the handshake before immediately retracting. 

“Anthony J Crowley.” he replied. 

Dark, circular sunglasses covered his eyes, but Azira got the impression that he was staring for an uncomfortably long time before he decided to bid goodbye and return to his own classroom.


	2. Snooping

He wasn’t quite sure why, but Anthony had immediately taken a liking to this new ‘Azira’ bloke. He was awfully polite, which was very rare among the teachers, and he even offered him a handshake. 

He was smartly dressed too, like he’d just walked out of the 1930’s, complete with a beige waistcoat and a tweed bow tie. The only thing not smart about him was the dishevelled, platinum blonde hair seemingly dumped on his head. He was almost the exact opposite of Anthony, and yet he felt drawn to him as if there was more to him than meets the eye. 

He was taken out of his thoughts when he spotted a student at the very back of the classroom slumped over the desk, asleep. His brow furrowed and he sat up straight, taking his feet off the desk. 

“Hello?” He called over to the kid. 

No answer. 

“Hey kid?” 

Nothing. Anthony pursed his lips and got up, making his way to the kid’s desk. He tapped him on the shoulder and the kid stirred a little. 

“Hey kid, are you from my Mythology class?” Anthony asked as the boy slowly lifted his head. 

He nodded as he rubbed his eyes with a pair of particularly grubby hands. Anthony stepped back a little as he grabbed his backpack from by his feet and stood up. 

“Sorry about that sir, its just I was up late last night.” He apologised. 

“I can tell. What’s your name, kid?” 

“Brian, sir.”

“Well Brian, make sure you-” Anthony was interrupted by three worried looking students barging through the door. 

“Brian we’ve been looking everywhere for you!” A girl in a bright red coat yelled. 

“Sorry Pepper, sorry Wensleydale.” Brian apologised to who were, presumably, his friends, “Sorry Adam.”

Brian apologised again to Anthony before hauling his backpack over his shoulders and following his friends back out the door, leaving what looked like grubby finger marks on the door handle. 

\------  
To say Azira was nervous for his very first class was quite the understatement. He was constantly rubbing his hands as he paced the front of the classroom, occasionally stopping to play delicately with the ring on his pinkie. For the fourth time he glanced over the textbooks neatly set out on each desk and checked the clock hanging above the door. Five minutes. 

Trying to calm himself down, he took a deep breath and decided to sit behind the desk to look professional as the students walked in. That didn’t last for very long; as the first few students arrived early he half stumbled out of his chair and offered handshakes to each of them and asked their names in the friendliest manner he could muster. Azira couldn’t help it, he was too soft. 

It took a good ten minutes for everyone to arrive a fill up the seats, each taking a look at the textbook laid out in front of them, but once the whole class seemed to have arrived Azira decided to start. 

“Well then people,” He beamed at his new students, “I bid you a very warm welcome to Literature! My name is Professor Azira Fell and I am going to be nurturing your love of books and expanding your literary horizons.” 

“Azira sounds like a girl’s name.” A particularly thin guy at the back called out. 

“Excuse me?” Azira replied in confusement. 

“Azira, it sounds like a girl’s name, Professor.” The guy repeated himself. 

Azira attempted to retaliate, “And what might your name be?” 

“Raven Sable, sir.” A shit-eating grin started to grow across his face, “People call me Famine.” 

“Well Raven, I would prefer if you kept those sorts of comments to yourself.” Azira tried to assert his dominance, “Especially considering the amount of girls named Sable since the 1880s.” 

The rest of the class jeered ‘oooh’ in unison as the grin on Raven’s face immediately disappeared. Azira couldn’t help but let the corner of his mouth lift into a little smirk before he returned his attention to the lesson. 

\------  
Anthony was sauntering back down the empty corridor to his room from his regular trip to the vending machine when a loud ‘oooh’ erupted from the room opposite; the new Literature Professor’s room. A coke grasped in one hand and a cereal bar in the other, he peered into the window, careful not to be seen snooping. 

Sure enough, there was Azira at the front of the class, babbling on about something to do with Oscar Wilde. To be honest, Anthony wasn’t sure what he had expected. Perhaps some literature related pun plastered on the board that all the weird literature students seemed enthralled by enough to jeer at it. 

Dissatisfied with his snooping, he walked back across the hall and into his classroom, giving Azira’s class one last glance over the shoulder.


	3. Can I tempt you to a spot of lunch?

Lunch, as usual, was lonely for Anthony. Mr Hastur and Mr Ligur had decided to eat with the other Biology and Science teachers, so he was left by himself again. A sad looking ham sandwich, a bag of doritos and a flask of what can only be described as alcoholic coffee stared at him from the table. He pushed the sunglasses back up his nose and took a bite out of the sandwich. 

Laughter broke out at the science table as Mr Hastur told a joke to his fellow teachers and Anthony grumbled some obscenity to himself. There was a part of him that wanted at least one friend, someone he could just talk to about nothing in particular, but he would always contradict it with the fact that he preferred his own company. He took a large swig from the flask of ‘coffee’ and pulled out his phone and wireless earbuds, putting his Queen playlist on shuffle. 

As Freddie Mercury blasted into his ears he didn’t notice the door to the staff common room open behind him. He did however notice the person walking over to the kettle and pour themselves a cup of tea, but ignored them like everyone else ignored him. 

\------  
“Do you mind if I sit here?” Azira asked Mr Crowley off-handedly, gesturing to the other empty seat at the table as he finished making his tea. 

The lack of response made Azira furrow his brow and look back around as his colleague. 

Azira waved a friendly hand in front of Anthony’s face, “Hello?”

Anthony looked up and noticed Azira. He was brought out of whatever trance he was in and removed two small earbuds from under his long hair. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, was I interrupting your music?” Azira apologised in embarrassment. 

“No it’s…” Anthony sort of trailed off, staring at Azira through his sunglasses, “It’s fine. No one else is going to sit there.” 

Azira gave him a soft smile and took the seat opposite. 

\------  
In reality, Anthony had let him sit there because no one ever sat with him, let alone asked to. A part of him felt like he should reject it, because soon enough this Azira guy would realise what a weirdo he was and leave him for the other teachers. 

He moved his flask so Azira could put down his cup of tea and what looked like cubes of rice on a small tray. He pulled out a pair of chopsticks and hovered them above the tray before picking up something orange. 

“What’s that?” Anthony asked, half intrigued, half grossed out. 

“Sushi.” Azira replied with a soft smile, reaching for another one, “Have you ever had it before?” 

“Once, and I think I threw up.” Was Anthony’s blunt reply as he stared at the ‘food’ from behind his glasses. 

Azira chuckled slightly, “Well, at least you gave it a try.” 

They both then sat in a sort of comfortable silence as they each ate their respective lunches. Not that Anthony was making an attempt to pay attention, but he noticed that Azira had a particular way of delicately picking up each piece of sushi and sipping his tea gently so none of it spilled down the side. This was in direct contrast, as Anthony had a way of just shoving the food in his mouth and washing it down with coffee, not taking time to savour whatever flavour was there. 

“So how long have you been teaching here?” Azira asked once they had both finished eating. 

“I don’t know, ever since I got my qualification in Demonology, I guess.” 

Azira seemed interested, “I didn’t know there was such a thing as Professor of Demonology.” 

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as Professor of Oscar Wilde.” Anthony retaliated, half smirking. 

“Excuse me?”

“I heard the kids from your class talking about it. Apparently you rambled on for most of the lesson.” He explained. 

“Oh, uh, we all have our interests don’t we.” Azira seemed a little embarrassed, “Do you think it was bad for my first lesson?” 

Anthony sighed and sat up in his chair, leaning over the table at Azira, “Look, I’m going to give you a piece of advice, and you might not like it but I’m going to tell you anyway. The more effort you put into a lesson the more disappointed you’ll be afterwards."

Azira’s expectant face dropped from its usual happy smile. 

“The students here are ungrateful and no matter how much fun you try and make the lesson, all they want to do is get their work and leave.” Anthony continued, “Trust me, the less you open up to them about yourself the better. No-one’s here to make friends.”

“Well then, uh…” Azira seemed lost for words. 

\------  
There was a part of Azira that didn’t want to believe Anthony. He had truly trusted that his students were enthusiastic about his subject and wanted to get to know him. Perhaps it was the Mythology students that had given him a hard time? Or maybe something had happened to him to give him this negative outlook on the school? Despite all this, Anthony had been here longer than Azira; he knew the ins and outs of life in this building, so who was he to question him?


	4. Home is where the books are

Almost two weeks had passed by and Azira was really getting settled in his new job. He had moved some of his expansive book collection into the teacher’s desk and his favourite angel wings mug had pride of place on a coaster by his computer. On the contrary to what Anthony had advised him, Azira had continued to enthuse about his favourite pieces of literature to his classes and even set them some essay work in conjunction. 

Anthony had been right about one thing though; he barely heard from his students outside of the classroom. On one occasion, in the midst of enthusing about Hamlet, he had caught the faces of his zoned out students at the back. This included Raven Sable, whom he had quite the growing resentment for at this point. 

Crowley had also been half-right about the friends thing too. None of the other teachers had bothered to come and greet him or even just throw him a friendly smile in passing down the corridor. The only sort-of-friend he had made by this point had been Anthony, who even then kept to himself most of the time. They only ever spoke at lunch when they sat together, or gave the other a small nod from across the hall through the windows of the doors. 

He hadn’t asked about the sunglasses, and to be honest he was a little too scared to. He’d figured it was either a fashion statement or some sort of safety blanket, like how people with body issues wear baggy clothes. He had, however, complimented him several times on his shoes, which were a sort of snake-scale black boot that made his legs look even longer and thinner than they actually were, which was not hard to do considering the ‘twig-like’ nature of Anthony. 

At this very moment in time, as Azira was thinking back on his first two weeks at the school, he was sat in a particularly comfy armchair in his apartment, flicking through the last few essays on Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’. 

Azira’s apartment wasn’t all that big, but perfect for someone like him. It was situated directly above a bookshop (to which he got a discount for) and had all the space he could wish for to house his book hoarding habit. He owned a copy of every classic play or novel you could think of, and was currently halfway through rereading Jane Eyre. Multiple blankets and pillows dotted about made the place feel warm and inviting from the minute you crossed the threshold. The beautifully carved four poster bed had been quite a pain to get into the bedroom when he had moved in but, once built, it complimented the deep red wallpaper and gave everything a sophisticated, but homely feel. 

If you didn’t know it was someone’s apartment, you might have thought it was an upper level to the bookshop with spines of hardback copies lining tall shelves in alphabetical order. 

In addition, it was also a Sunday, so the bookshop downstairs wasn’t awfully busy. Perhaps a few people milling about looking at nothing in particular, maybe browsing the political history section to pass the afternoon. Azira had decided, once he finished marking the essays, to have a look around and found himself drawn to the gardening section. 

A few minutes later, the bell chimed as someone opened the door, stepping in particularly quietly, considering the varnished wooden floor. Shortly after, Azira felt someone nudge past him towards the animal section. He turned around to apologise for being in the way and came face to face with someone very familiar. 

“Well, fancy seeing you here!” Azira grinned at Anthony, who now had his long hair tied back, off his face and into a bun. 

Anthony was unusually quiet as he mumbled something that sounded like a ''Hello” or ''Hiya”. 

“So what brings you here?” Azira grinned, trying to make light, friendly conversation. 

If Anthony was the only colleague of his that had the decency to make conversation every once in a while, then Azira was going to grab it with both hands. 

Anthony glanced down at a book he had just absent-mindedly picked off the shelf ; ‘How to take care of your snake Vol. 1’, “Just thinking about… getting a… pet?” 

He seemed quite different to when he and Azira had had their little conversations in the staff room. Something was definitely up, but he felt that asking any personal questions in a public setting would be quite inappropriate. 

“Oh, well, I’ll let you get on then.” Azira smiled and chuckled a little. 

Anthony threw one of those quick, close-lipped smiles and turned back around to face the row of reptile books.


	5. The Snake's Lair

Of course he would be in a bookshop, where else would a literature nerd hang out? Anthony slumped into his particularly firm sofa and flicked on the TV to nothing in particular. He had only gone for a look around yesterday, but now he had told Azira he was looking to get a pet, it made him look soft; it made him look vulnerable and weak. He never showed his soft side to anyone, especially someone he had only known for a couple of weeks. 

His TV was mounted on a large grey wall. In fact, most of his apartment was large, grey walls apart from the odd window overlooking London. Decorative pieces of art like small statues and a mock-up of the Mona Lisa adorned the pretty bare, box rooms of the apartment. Crowley’s favourite statue sat in his office and depicted a demon battling an angel. Also among his prized possessions were four huge houseplants that guarded the front door. They were very similar to the ones in his classroom, except these were bigger and towered over Anthony. 

The whole aura of the apartment was cold, almost modern museum-like, and certainly not homely. It was a manifestation of Crowley’s cold, hard exterior and immaculately clean as if he was constantly expecting guests, but no one other than him ever came in and out of the door. 

The safety of his apartment also allowed him to feel comfortable, so the sunglasses usually glued to his head were folded neatly on the coffee table in front of him as he slouched into a hard cushion. He had overheard conversations from the students joking that he had bright yellow snake eyes and that’s why he always wore sunglasses. He sometimes smirked to himself because it was surprisingly accurate, well, not the snake eyes bit. He had some sort of rare gene or something that made his irises a bright orange/yellow. For reasons he’d rather not go into, he felt very self conscious about them and had been wearing sunglasses since he was a teenager. 

Feeling a little thirsty, he slithered off the sofa and sauntered over the cupboard that housed his vast array of alcoholic beverages. He reached for an ugly green wine bottle and poured the red liquid into a large wine glass, taking a swig before returning to his lazed position in front of the TV and whatever ‘Pam and Sam’ was. 

“Don’t think I didn’t spot that mark on your leaf when I came in.” Anthony didn’t move his head, but addressed the plant nearest him, “You do so much as turn another shade of green and I’ll use you for firelighter.” 

Obviously there was no response from the plant, but Anthony liked to think it was internally apologising for not being up to standard. Suddenly, the answering machine perched on the end on his desk beeped and Anthony turned around to listen, as the door to his office was open. 

“This is Anthony J Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style.” The machine churned out his message. 

“Anthony, this is Mx Zebub again. I swear I don’t know what sort of mutant plants you’ve got up there but another thing of plant food just got delivered. I don’t want to have to terminate your tenancy if you turn that place into a jungle.” The monotone voice of his landlord echoed through the apartment. 

Rolling his eyes, Anthony grabbed his sunglasses and put down the wine. He gave a threatening glare to one of the plants on his way out. 

Anthony plodded down the stairwell to the ground floor and came face to face with his landlord as he approached the mail boxes. They were short in stature with a mop of dishevelled black hair on their head. Their face always carried a bored/disgruntled look, but this time they had their arms crossed and were leant against the wall between their apartment and the bag of plant food. 

“You need to stop threatening to terminate my tenancy, Beel.” Anthony half smirked, moving towards the plant food. 

“You need to stop cultivating the bloody Garden of Eden up there.” Beel retaliated, gesturing to the stairs. 

“It not against the terms of agreement.” Anthony picked up the plant food and made a beeline for the stairs, “Oh, and tell Gabe I said hi.” 

“Suck a plant dick, Crowley.” Beel called after him before returning to their apartment, in which Gabe Riel was lounging on the sofa. 

Crowley wasn’t at all worried by a ‘termination of tenancy’ threat. He had a deal with Mx Zebub and Mr Riel that pretty much ensured a roof over his head. He had found out about their relationship and Gabe had threatened his job if he told anyone about it, so, in order to keep his end of the bargain, he demanded immunity from getting kicked out of his apartment. A win-win.


	6. A Helping Hand

Having had the weekend to stew over it, Azira had decided that he rather quite liked Anthony, in a ‘more-than-acquaintances' kind of way. He enjoyed his company and listened intently whenever he had anything to say. He particularly liked how enthusiastic he got when talking about his plants, and now he knew Anthony was thinking of getting a pet, Azira definitely knew he wasn’t in any way like the silent, cold facade he put up. 

There was also something else that Azira couldn’t quite put his finger on yet. Something about the way he tucked his long hair behind his ear, or how he used his index finger to gently push the bridge of his glasses up his nose. Something… ineffable. 

Ineffable was one of his favourite words, though he rarely got to use it. This something, however, this feeling was definitely ineffable, without a shadow of a doubt. And there was a part of him that wished it wasn’t. 

\------  
The next Monday morning was surprisingly sunny and, for once, Anthony didn’t look out of place wearing his glasses. He locked the door of his 50s style Bentley and sauntered towards the staff entrance. 

He had tried to get an older Bentley, but they were too expensive to upkeep. His dad had owned one in the 60’s but changed it for a newer model, which had then subsequently spent the next 40 years in storage because he ‘didn’t like the way it drove’. 

Anthony had inherited it when his dad passed away and fixed it up with a fresh coat of jet black paint. He barely walked anywhere that wasn’t the shop across from his apartment. He wanted to be seen suavely getting out of it and casually adjusting the collar of his jacket as he slinked down the street. 

However, there was no one around to see him right now, as it was 8:30 on a Monday morning... in September… in a school car park. 

As he neared the automatic doors (that led to the middle aged sullen-looking receptionist with tattered hair), he spotted a familiar figure clambering out of a taxi trying to hold onto a pile of books. Without thinking, Anthony diverted his trajectory and made a beeline for Azira. 

“Need some help?” Anthony offered, picking up a copy of Charles Dickens that Azira had just dropped. 

“Anthony!” Azira breathed through one of his warm smiles, “Yes please, if you wouldn’t mind. I can’t help but feel that I might have been a tad over-ambitious.”

Anthony took half the pile and they walked side by side through the entrance. They flashed their teacher IDs at the receptionist and continued down the maze of corridors that made up the school. 

\------  
Anthony’s random act of kindness seemed really out of the blue, not that Azira was complaining. Just another excuse to talk to who seemed like his only sort-of-friend in this building. 

“So, how are the plants?” Azira tried to fill the silence as they turned a corner. 

“Still alive.” Was Anthony’s blunt response. 

“Ah good, I bet they’re beautiful.” Azira continued. 

“They’re plants. They’re there to grow and produce oxygen.” 

“But, I suppose, you’d want them to look nice.” 

There was a thoughtful pause from Anthony, “Of course. What would be the point in having them?” 

They reached Azira’s classroom and Anthony held the door with his foot while Azira thanked him before entering. 

“Good morning Mr Fell, Mr Crowley.” Azira recognised the voice of one of his students emitting from the back of the classroom. 

“Good morning to you too, Miss Device.” Azira addressed the smartly dressed girl before noticing her accomplice, “And Mr Pulsifer. It’s quite early, isn't it? Class doesn’t start until 9”

“The bus got here a bit early so we came straight down.” The boy explained. 

“Ah, fair enough. Nice to see you're eager.” Azira joked and smiled at the both of them as they returned to whatever books they had their respective heads buried in. 

He turned back around to talk to Anthony, but he had vanished. The books he was carrying were placed neatly on the desk and the door hadn’t even made a noise as he left. He felt a sort of sinking feeling that Anthony had just left unannounced like that, not even with a ‘see you later’. But then again, that was his whole demeanour- barely any words and invisible to anyone who wasn’t paying attention. 

Azira made a mental note to apologise when they sat together at lunch. He felt so guilty, being so wrapped up in a conversation that he didn’t even notice Anthony leave. This was his fault and he was going to fix it.


	7. He's definitely gay

He fucking knew it. He knew he was invisible. Anthony had started to think that maybe he wasn’t over these past few weeks, what with all the attention Azira gave him, but now he knew he was just like everyone else. He had tried to say something, but Azira was too bothered about talking to his students that he just quietly stepped out, not wanting to interrupt. 

He chewed on his bottom lip and got up from his seat on his desk. Grabbing the green spray bottle he kept on the window sill, he gave the smaller plants a few sprays and poured the rest into the soil of the two larger ones. 

The clock started to hear 9 o’clock but only a few students filtered in. This was going to be a long day. 

\------

Anathema Device was very well-to-do from a quick glance. She always wore frilled shirts and long flowing skirts as if it was the 40s, complete with circular spectacles. Her long, dark hair was always pinned neatly out of her face, perfect for whatever book she happened to have her nose in at the time. She had jokingly acquired the nickname ‘witch’ after trying to explain how she was an occultist in a religious studies class. This was, coincidentally, how she had first come to meet Newton Pulsifer. 

Newton was what you might expect Harry Potter to look like if he never went to hogwarts; Scruffy hair, broken glasses fixed with duct tape and a rather ill-fitting tweed jacket. He and Anathema had formed a bond in the religious studies class after he became intrigued with her ‘way of life’. She had managed to convince him that she was psychic, which interested him even more and it wasn’t long before the two were inseparable. 

He also had an affinity for books, but ones more along the lines of instructional guides about computers. Anathema was more inclined to books on prophecies or ‘occult forces’, more commonly known as spellbooks. The kinds on ones that allow you to bless good fortune on the weather, or to make sure your food doesn’t burn in the oven. 

Newton was currently slap-bang in the middle of ‘Coding for Dummies’ as his girlfriend read up on new types of herbs that cleanse demonic spirits. Mr Fell was at the front of the classroom sorting out his books and, as a few other students trickled in, Anathema took the opportunity to gently tap Newton’s hand. He held it out for her to lace her fingers in, but instead she leaned in and whispered to him. 

“You know the mythology teacher, Mr Crowley?” 

“The guy who came in with Mr Fell?” Newton answered the question with one of his own. 

“Gay.” 

“Excuse me?” He breathed out in confusion. 

“Mr Crowley, he’s definitely gay.” Anathema explained, “My abilities, I can sense it. Besides, you can’t hide anything behind that dress sense.” 

“And?” Newton responded, not sure where she was going with this. 

“Mr Fell too, I suspect. My abilities are telling me something about the both of them.” Anathema continued. 

“Mr Fell?” 

“Gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide.” She grinned, making Newton snigger a little. 

Suddenly, he started to catch his girlfriend’s drift, “Wait so… you don’t think?” 

“If they’re not fucking already, they will be.” She pushed her glasses back up her nose and returned to her book, “I mean, Mr Crowley carried his books for him for God’s sake.” 

\------  
Lunch was drawing nearer and even Azira was glancing frequently at the clock as the bell slowly approached. The guilt from the morning had slowly grown and he was so eager to find Anthony and apologise. He didn’t even bother to remind his students of their work as they loudly packed their things away and hurried out to the cafeteria. As always, he had to wait until everyone had left to lock the door, but two people still sat at the back, legs up on the tables in front of them. One of them was Raven Sable. 

“Raven, I’m going to have to ask you and your friend to leave, I need to lock the door.” Azira tried to politely address them, despite how he felt about Raven. 

There was no response. The other student sat next to Raven was taller and wore all black. His hood was up, so his face was mostly obscured to Azira. 

“Come on boys, I’ve got something rather important to be doing and you’re not allowed to be in here by yourselves.” Azira persisted. 

Raven slowly turned his head to his friend, who nodded, and he returned his unsettling stare. 

“Mr Anthony Crowley.” Raven spoke in an accusing tone, “Is he your friend?” 

“Why should it matter to you?” Azira replied, a little taken aback by Raven’s directness. 

“Oh, we just thought it was strange, that’s all.” The thin boy’s smirk lifted, “Someone like you hanging round with someone like… him.” 

This started to make Azira quite uncomfortable and he tried to change the subject, “You, Raven’s friend, I don’t believe I know you?” 

“No, you don’t,” Raven stood up, closely followed by his tall friend, “And you don’t know Mr Crowley either.” 

The two boys slowly walked up to Azira, who still had a hand on the open door. 

“There’s a reason no one hangs out with him.” Raven gave Azira a sly look before exiting behind the hooded boy.


	8. Friends?

Azira watched as the pair sauntered down the corridor in the direction of the cafeteria. He glanced at the empty classroom opposite him and swallowed nervously before locking the door behind him and making his way to the staff room. What could be so bad about Anthony? 

\------  
“What about the Spanish Inquisition, but like, British?” 

“British? Are you mad? That’s like three countries worth of people!” 

“Wales isn’t that big though, mainly farmers and sheep.” 

“What do you think, Adam?” 

Wensleydale, Brian, Pepper and Adam, better known as ‘the Them’, all sat on the small patch of grass outside the building. Adam was slightly higher than the others, as he was perched on a small rock, with the others sat facing him. He was clearly the leader of the group, although his attitudes towards certain things were questionable. His neighbor, Anathema Device, had shown him all her books on conspiracies last summer and he was eager to share all of the theories with his willingly gullible friends, apart from Pepper of course. 

Pepper was very much her own person and rarely allowed others to influence her opinions or decisions. Her Sociology Professor, Madame Tracy, even made her head of their debate club after her speech stating that ‘war is just masculine imperialism executed on a global stage.’ 

“Doesn’t Wales have that really long place name?” Adam completely ignored the main conversation they were currently having. 

“I bet my English teacher could pronounce it.” Brian boasted. 

“You take English Literature, not English Language, idiot.” Wensleydale pointed out. 

“It’s not even English, you morons!” Pepper groaned in frustration, “It’s Welsh and it’s pronounced Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.” 

The three boys stared at her, speechless and in amazement. 

“Anyways, what’s this about the Spanish Inquisition?” Adam finally managed to say something. 

“My essay.” Pepper replied, “The blatant violation of human rights.” 

“It was the middle ages, there were no human rights.” Wensleydale contradicted her. 

“There were humans.” Pepper retaliated. 

Their argument continued in the same vein for the rest of lunch. Adam didn’t bother interjecting, he was too busy mentally figuring out how to say that Welsh place name. 

\------  
Despite looking in all the usual places, Azira couldn’t find Anthony anywhere. He wasn’t at their table, or in his classroom, or at any of the vending machines. He was about to give up on his search when he spotted a plume of cigarette smoke and a flash of unmistakable red hair from behind the bike shed. He walked round the side and saw Anthony disappear behind the building where all the dumpsters lived. His brow furrowed as he cautiously followed. 

He turned the corner to see Anthony with a cigarette balancing between his lips as he took off his sunglasses and rested them on his head. He couldn’t see his eyes very well, but they were definitely not a normal colour. 

“Anthony?” He called out to him. 

“OH JESU- AZIRA FOR GOD’S, FOR SAKE!” Anthony spluttered in shock and turned his back to Azira. 

“Oh, sorry! Did I frighten you?” Azira stepped back and fiddled with the ring on his pinkie in embarrassment. 

“No, you just-” Anthony mumbled in response as he put his glasses back on and turned back around, “What are you doing back here?” 

Azira looked shamefully from the dumpsters, to Anthony’s cigarette, to his feet, “Looking for you.” 

“Why?”

“It’s just… I… well I-”

“Azira, what?” 

Azira’s thoughts stopped. For the first time ever, he heard Anthony call him by his name. He hadn’t noticed it for the past couple weeks, but as he said it, he noticed immediately. Anthony would always call him ‘man’ or something along those lines. He liked the way his name sounded in Anthony’s voice - it was gentle, calm. 

“I wanted to apologise.” he finally spat it out. 

“For what?” 

“Being a bad friend.” 

\------  
A friend. A friend? Did Azira just call himself his friend? Anthony was lost for words as his mouth lay slightly agape, threatening to drop the cigarette hanging from his lips. He decided not to address the ‘friend’ comment in fear of not looking cool. 

“W-why? What did you do?” Anthony eventually replied. 

“I was frightfully rude this morning.” the blonde elaborated, “I hadn’t even noticed you leave. I’ve felt so guilty all morning and I needed to find you to… apologise.” 

He was lost for words once more. Maybe Azira wasn’t like the others as much as he thought he was. He actually cared about Anthony’s feelings and was bothered enough to go looking for him. No one was bothered about him before, and now this random new teacher from across the hall was actually making an effort to be his… friend.


	9. Is that a yes?

Despite their constant comments about Anthony Crowley’s plant garden, Mx Beel Zebub had a surprising amount of venus flytraps dotted about their apartment. There was also a small plate of gone-off fruit on one windowsill that was a feast to any insect that happened to find it’s way in through the open window. 

Gabe Riel had basically started living with them since they decided to get serious with their relationship. He had his own place, of course, but he was the clingy type; like REALLY clingy. He barely ever stayed back after work to finish up anything and came straight to the apartment complex. This was, eventually, how he ended up running into Anthony Crowley and exposing their relationship. Beel didn’t care that much, since they were openly queer, but Gabe not so much. 

Gabe was sprawled over the sofa, his tie undone and his suit jacket slung over the back of a chair. Beel had been watering their flytraps when he let himself in and promptly made themself comfortable on his lap. 

“How was today?” Beel asked softly. 

“A nightmare.” Gabe groaned in response, “That Azrael kid that got kicked out last year was wandering round the halls with his buds. You know… the-”

“Yeah, I know. I saw them putting up graffiti the other night, the bastards.” Beel leaned further into Gabe, “They’re like the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Kids will be kids, I suppose.” 

“You know what’s funny, they do actually call themselves that.” Gabe half laughed, “I think they fancy themselves as some sort of biker gang - The Four Horsemen.” 

“Just ignore them, they can’t do you any harm.” 

“They’re a headache, I know that much.” Gabe rubbed his forehead and lifted an arm up to let Beel lean in more. 

“As much of a headache as Crowley?” 

“Well,” Gabe smirked, “Maybe not that much. You know, he’s been acting different lately, have you noticed?” 

“Different how?” 

“I don’t know, like he’s happier all of a sudden.” 

“Anthony Crowley, happy? You must be out of your mind.” Beel giggled. 

Gabe smirked and ran his fingers gently through Beel’s black locks, “I know, it’s weird! He’s been going round with that new literature professor too. Call me crazy, but I think Crowley might have made a friend.” 

“Impossible, he’s way too selfish.” 

\------  
Pleased with his grading of the new essays, Azira glanced at the clock on the wall and figured he could get a few chapters of Jane Eyre read before his bus arrived. As he stood up from his desk and walked over to the bookshelf behind him, he caught a glimpse of Anthony leaning over his desk across the hall. The past few weeks had been interesting to say the least. Anthony seemed a little more open in their conversations since Azira had apologised for being a bad friend. They really got along like a house on fire, not that that is a good thing, Azira would like to point out. When he was younger his favourite bookshop burned down and he’d never let it go. 

Anyways, Azira liked to think him and Anthony Crowley were quite good friends now. They spent almost every lunch break together and Anthony had even offered to give him a lift to work one morning, but Azira politely declined, recounting how he fast he had seen the Bentley taking corners in the car park. 

He glanced back through the window in the door at Anthony trying to mark his papers. Azira shifted his weight from foot to foot as he held his copy of Jane Eyre to his chest. He bit the inside of his lip as he glanced over the empty desks of his classroom seemingly staring at him. He sighed, making his decision, and grabbed his coat and bag before turning the lights off and locking up. 

\------  
He really wished he had just marked these papers when they were handed in last week, but he had to procrastinate and now Anthony was swamped with stuff that was due in two days time. Just as he finished the last main pile and moved on to a smaller one, a gentle knock on the door was followed by Azira’s timid smile as his head poked through the door. 

“Do you mind?” He asked, gesturing to a book in his hand as he stood in the door frame. 

“Uh.. not at all.” Anthony replied, and Azira let himself in, shutting the door as gently as he had opened it. 

Azira pulled up a chair to the opposite side on the desk and placed his coat and bag on the floor beside him. He opened the hardback and began to read, but paused when he felt Anthony’s eyes on him. Shit, he wasn’t being subtle. 

“Sorry.” Anthony apologised and returned to marking his papers. 

“No, it’s fine.” Azira smiled, “Are you interested in the book or?-”

“It’s nothing.” Anthony bluntly responded, penning a large ‘A+’ on an essay belonging to ‘Adam Young’. 

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Azira reading his book and Anthony marking his papers. The both of them were clearly working up the courage to say something to the other, but neither said anything until the time came for Azira to catch his bus. 

“Well, I better be off then.” Azira threw a quick smile at Anthony and put his book into his bag and slung his coat over his shoulders. 

Azira just stood there, clearly debating on saying something and, by the looks of things, so was Anthony. Suddenly, they both spoke at the same time;

“Would you like to-”  
“Are you busy-”

Both of them laughed it off, Azira gesturing for Anthony to finish what he was saying. 

“I was just going to say...” Anthony half smiled before returning to his steely stare from under the glasses, “I was just going to say- Would you like to go out for a drink? Like… now?” 

Azira chuckled, “Well, funnily enough, I was just about to ask you if you were busy later!” 

“So is that a yes?” the corner of Anthony’s mouth lifted. 

“Um, yes.”


	10. Oh, bebop

Azira would rather not mention the car ride to the pub, mainly how hard he was holding on to the door handle as Anthony sped round a roundabout. He really did appreciate the classic decor though, between “Watch out for that lady!” and “You can’t do 90 miles per hour down a dual carriageway!”   
“There’s no one on the road.”   
“That’s not the point!” 

They had managed to get the last parking space just as the sun began to set over a dishevelled looking hedge. They hadn’t been so lucky with somewhere to sit, as all the tables had been claimed by already tipsy patrons. A random 80s playlist was blasting from the jukebox at the back and the variety of other pub-goers was slim; the businessmen in suits, the beer-bellied over 50s, the ‘I-drink-to-forget-but-I-always-remember’. 

Azira followed Anthony through the crowd like a lost child as he made his way to the bar and tried to get the attention of the landlord. 

“I must say, I don’t really go to pubs all that often.” Azira joined Anthony, who was leaning casually over the bar with a ten pound note between his fingers. 

“Not the drinking type?” Anthony queried as Azira awkwardly mirrored his stance. 

“No, its just I usually drink wine… alone... with a good book.” Azira realised how sad it sounded as it came out of his mouth. 

“Two.” Anthony held his fingers up to the landlord who had just taken his money, “There’s no shame in that.” 

“Really? Isn’t drinking alone supposed to be... sad?” Azira gratefully took his pint from the landlord. 

“I do it all the time, do I look sad to you?” Anthony spoke and then gulped at his pint. 

In truth, yes, Azira did think he looked a little sad. You can usually tell by the eyes, but it was just something about him that made Azira feel the need to give him a hug. Admittedly, he hadn’t been as gloomy in the past few weeks, but there was still something about him, deep down, that felt a little broken. 

\------  
Anthony had been quite surprised that Azira had agreed to come out with him. He had half expected him to make some comment about marking work or re-organising his seemingly endless book collection. He had also expected Azira to be a lightweight, but now they were both on their third pint and nothing seemed off. The 80s playlist emitting from the jukebox came to its end and Anthony felt around in his pocket for some change. 

“Come on.” He picked up his pint and gave Azira a tap on the shoulder for him to follow. 

The both of them walked over to the jukebox and Anthony set his pint down on the top before pulling out a few ten pence pieces. He prodded the glass with one of his spindly fingers and dragged it slowly over the song names. 

“Ah! There’s the bugger!” Anthony muttered to himself before inserting the change and pressing song number ‘00.06’. 

“What’s a Velvet Underground?” Azira asked, looking at the song Anthony had picked out. 

“You wouldn’t like it, but we’re going to listen to it anyway.” Anthony grinned and took another swig of his pint. 

“Oh, bebop.” 

Anthony’s brow furrowed and stared at Azira quizzically through his glasses. He couldn’t tell if Azira was joking or if he was really that out of touch with modern culture. The guy acted like he’d been plucked out of the 1940s and dumped in the middle of an Apple store; and there was a part of him that quite liked that aspect of his new friend. 

An amount of time passed. Whether it was ten minutes or an hour Anthony couldn’t tell, he’d been too engrossed in pints and conversation with Azira to notice the evening slipping away. He liked this, just having someone to talk to about nothing in particular, and he wondered how in the hell the both of them got along so well, considering that they were basically each other’s polar opposites. White and black; old and new; suit trousers and skinny jeans. 

\------  
It then got to the point in the night where the two of them were starting to notice the effects of the alcohol and Azira suggested slowing down. 

“Just this last bit.” Anthony held his pint glass tipsily with both hands. 

“Crowley.” Azira felt a smile tugging at his lips as he tried to keep a straight face. 

“Oh come on, I paid for the whole pint, might’swell finish it.” He slurred towards the end. 

“I thought you said you weren’t drunk.” 

“I’m fine.” Anthony murmured through the glass as he tipped the rest down his gullet. 

“Anyway, you’re in no fit state to drive.” Azira pointed out, and then saw the wall in front of him sway a little, “Neither am I to be honest.” 

“Shit, yeah.” Anthony rubbed his eyes under his glasses and pushed them back up his nose, “D’you wanna call a taxi?” 

“Well, my flat is like fifteen minutes walk down the road. Do you want to go there and sober up so you can drive home?” Azira suggested off-handedly. 

“Um… y-yeah sure.” the slightly slurred words escaped Anthony’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya guys! I’ve been writing little parts here and there for chapters down the line, but it’s starting to move towards some angst and I’m not too sure whether to take the story that way. Can I get opinions? Do you guys prefer the sort of lighter tone it is at the moment/would you keep reading if it went down a darker route?


	11. The Four Horsemen

A jet black boy racer subaru probably doesn’t look that out of place on the streets of Soho, but when it speeds round corners and almost hits a group of drunks running a red light, a few heads are bound to get turned. It was a miracle it didn’t get pulled over by the police before it slowed down and crept through the smaller back roads behind pubs and corner shops. The spoiler on the back had ‘Death’ artistically spray painted on and the registration plate read ‘H0RS3M3N’. 

In the passenger seat sat Raven Sable, or ‘Famine’, with his feet up on the dash. Carmine Zuigiber and Chalky White (or ‘War’ and ‘Pollution’) lounged in the back and Azrael was behind the wheel, better known on the streets as ‘Death’. The Four Horsemen were not only infamous within their school, but on the streets of Soho. 

Famine had mainly got his name from his appearance. The description of ‘wafer-thin’ would be an understatement, but he seemed to walk and talk completely fine. He seemed to throw threats and insults around like nobody’s business too. He was definitely the mouth of the group, and even the cleaning ladies could tell you that. He always dressed sharply and carried a threatening demeanour to match, like he was part of the mafia and was about to ask some low-life where his money was. 

War was pretty much the exact opposite of Famine; she talked with her fists. She would always carry around a random bruise or scrape from whoever she had decided to kick the shit out of that day. Flaming red hair to match the temper too, and no-one would do so much at look at her the wrong way out of pure terror. A leather biker jacket complete with shoulder spikes hugged her body and you could always hear her coming down the hall from the sound of her thick knee-high boots. 

Pollution was quiet, very quiet. Only spoke when spoken to and had a good knack for throwing as much carbon dioxide into the air as possible with their diesel motorbike and smoking habit. From an environmental point of view, Pollution was the worst of the bunch, hence their nickname. Their pale locks and sullen expression wove their way nicely into the patchwork group dynamic of the Horsemen, or more accurately, Horsepeople. Horsemen sounds better though. 

Death. The big guy. The top dog. He towered above everyone like a looming bad omen and no one dared stand in his way. His drug business spanned the whole of Soho and then some. You didn’t pull through with the goods? You’re as good as dead. 

Death also holds grudges, in particular one against a teacher that got him kicked out of school. 

The subaru crawled the back streets menacingly, its four passengers throwing threatening side glances out of the rolled down windows. 

“You got some money to collect?” Famine tilted his head towards the driver, who seemed like he was looking for someone. 

“You’ll see.” His deep grumble replied. 

They slowly turned a corner and reversed slightly into a dead-end alley, opposite a bookshop. Death killed the engine and sat back in his seat, staring down the warm glow of the bookshop as if he was trying to lower the temperature with his mind. 

“A bookshop?” War leaned forward between the front seats, followed by Pollution. 

“By the looks of things, The Snake seems to have found a friend.” Famine explained, “And it’s always just him.” 

The other two immediately knew what this meant. They examined every inch of the bookshop windows with their steely stare and paid close attention to everyone who came in or out. 

\------  
Even slightly drunk, Anthony was particularly fast in his stride down the street, so much so that Azira had to do a little jog to keep up. Anthony’s camp swagger was only amplified by the amount of alcohol he had consumed and on multiple occasions his stride was too wide and he tripped onto the double yellow lines. 

“It’s just here.” Azira grabbed Anthony’s elbow and gestured to the familiar warm glow of the bookshop under his apartment. 

Anthony stared at it for a moment before directing his furrowed brow at Azira, “I mean, I know you’re a literature professor, but come on! Can you be any more predictable?” 

Thankfully Anthony was too tipsy to realise this was the same bookshop they had an awkward encounter in a couple weeks ago. Azira checked the road for cars before helping Anthony cross and they entered the shop. 

\------  
Death’s face grew intrigued as he watched his pale-haired target return home accompanied, and irritated when he recognised the accomplice as Anthony Crowley. The other three had noticed too. 

“Well, what do you know?” Famine took his feet off the dashboard and laced his fingers together under his chin, “Seems they’re closer than we thought.”

“They’ve been drinking.” Pollution noticed their unnatural walking pace and stumbling as they neared the door. 

“So what’s the plan, boss?” War turned to Death, “Because I’m guessing it’s going to be much worse than when Pollution dumped moth larvae onto his plants to eat them.” 

“Death and I already sowed doubt into the Snake’s friend.” Famine explained. 

“Then I’ve got Crowley, he’s my mythology professor.” War added. “He’s too fragile not to second guess this new guy.” 

“I have Mr Hastur for Biology. Any rumours I mention to him will get passed on to Mr Ligur, and no doubt it will spread from there.” Pollution smirked, “It won’t be long until they have Mr Riel breathing down their necks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry I haven't updated in a while as I've been away the past couple weeks. Hopefully some mystery will suffice?


End file.
